


and all at once (this is enough)

by TolkienGirl



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Basically these two deserve to kiss and I'm here to give it to them, F/M, First Kiss, Height Differences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Gaby opens her eyes. “I want you to kiss me, Illya.” And now she is almost angry at him for making her come out and say it.





	and all at once (this is enough)

When they make it out of the warehouse, the rain has stopped.

It is a dreary night, still, and the cobbles are shifting and shimmering under the streetlights. They keep to the shadows. On the other side of the city, Napoleon is waiting for them. It has been a long day.

“Not hurt?”

“Not hurt.”

A car careens by, spitting through the puddles, and Illya turns a broad shoulder, shielding Gaby, keeping them both out of sight. Her back is against a wall. Illya takes a step back, the moment past, but Gaby reaches for his sleeve.

“What is it?”

“Wait.”

There is a streak of dirt on his forehead. His jacket is muddy. And there is a bruise on his cheek. He takes her breath away. Damn him, but it’s such a _comfortable_ feeling.

She is breathing hard. Is he? She _wants_ him to breathe hard.

Gaby shuts her eyes. And then—nothing.

“Are you hurt?” His voice is softer now, but not quite the right strain of softness.

Gaby opens her eyes. “I want you to kiss me, Illya.” And now she is almost angry at him for making her come out and _say_ it.

He goes very still, and he does not look at her. Does he think a look will betray him?

Gaby feels small—well, smaller than usual. Her nails are against her palms. Her left thumb moves along the crease of her knuckle, pressing where the ring— _his_ ring—used to be.

She wore that ring for no more than a week. So why—

“Why?”

 _Why._ She knows he wants it too. She has seen it all in his eyes. And they are three weeks into a new future, and every day might be their last—

She lifts her brows, as though an expression can save her. “Because I want to know what it feels like.”

“You’ve kissed other men.” He does not state it as a question. Still not looking at her.

She kicks him in the shin.

Illya never swears, when he is startled. He just grinds his teeth together and gives a blaze of a glance. Gaby feels a prickle down her spine. He’d all but told her that he loved her, when he thought he was going away. He’d been all softness, all longing, all openness—if only for a moment.  

Perhaps she should come to grips with the idea that Illya may be better at goodbyes.

“A kick,” he says, through his teeth, “Is not a kiss.”

“No,” Gaby says. She can be dramatic; she has risked her life, and more importantly, she has been to the cinema. “ _This_ is a kiss.”

Then she throws her arms around his neck, and—

She can’t reach him.

This is immensely embarrassing.

It’s also what makes Illya smile.

His hands cup her elbows. He mutters something under his breath, something that might mean _little wildcat_ in Russian, and then again might not. He lifts her.

Gaby feels the lines of every brick against her back. Illya is crowding her against the wall.

A last, they are face to face.

And now _Gaby_ is the one who is nervous. Gaby, whose idea this was in the first place.

“Remember,” he says, low and just a little rough, “You were the one who wanted this.”

Then his lips find hers.

Illya does not kiss like a fighter. He is surprisingly soft, surprisingly gentle. Gaby thought it would be a battle, but this is an unforeseen coup—she fears the target is her heart. She is melting, slipping down—his left arm catches her, snug around her waist, holding her up. His other hand finds her hair. His fingers are calloused; she can feel their roughness catching and snagging, but his mouth is warm, his mouth is _hers_ , and Gaby does not know what she will do when he lets her go.

(She grips his collar, hard, so he will not have to).

They stop for breath, but breathing is hard. To tell the truth, Gaby did not think she would ever breathe again.

“Keep me,” she whispers.

He nods, but she sees it all in his eyes.

(They cross the city hand in hand.)


End file.
